The Auction
by SunnyBaby
Summary: Can a person's entire life be reduced to simple lots up for bidding? CD not stated directly. Inspired by my neighbor's estate sale. AN: I have removed My Ladybug for some continuity issues. Please be patient. It will be revised and replaced soon.


I heard a long drawn out sigh coming from my husband in the next chair. He crossed his arms and leaned back before taking a breath. "Wake me when this is over will ya?"

"Shush Steven. This should only take about an hour and you know how much I have been looking forward to this. Now, it's starting in 10 minutes." I sighed and began looking through the brochure again.

"Ladies and Gentlemen." The auctioneer began, "We will be starting with the auction in 10 minutes, please make sure you have registered for a number so we can begin on time. Thank you."

I glanced around the room one more time. For an auction of the estate of someone so prestigious, there were probably only around 40 people in attendance. That was sad really. Most of the sales I had been to usually drew in around 100 or so folks. Mainly it was only 10 or so who did any bidding. People seem to have a curious fascination with the trappings and collections of the dead. I looked over at my husband again who now had his eyes closed. Gingerly, I poked him with my elbow.

"Can we at least hit the Palermo before we leave?" He snorted.

"Yes dear, I promise. Now just relax they're starting." I shook my head and concentrated on the auctioneer. Next to him on the small stage was seated a young woman about 20 years old. She was holding a clipboard in her hand and was taking notes after each lot was closed. She looked awfully young to be the auctioneer's assistant, but she was precise with her movements. I noticed a sincere sadness in her eyes as she wrote. The rapping of the gavel brought my focus back to the task at hand and I waited for my lot to come up.

Thirty minutes later my patience was rewarded. I heard the auctioneer begin.

"Lot 116. 125 Lucite mounted butterfly specimens. This collection is probably the finest ever assembled on the west coast. Some species are now extinct and/or endangered. I'll start the bidding at 5,000." He then launched into his speedy dialogue. I was bidding against a man from England in the front row. As the bids rose, my husband began to fidget.

"Jesus Christine. You're up to 10 grand already! How high are you going?" He said shocked at my brazenness.

"30 thousand. My entire savings Steven. I told you that before we got on the plane. Now, I'm trying to concentrate. This guy is slowing down."  
The auctioneer accepted by bid of 15 grand and looked around the room. I could feel the sweat dripping off my nose and I waited for another offer. "Going once, going twice, SOLD to bidder number 32. Congratulations. 15 thousand dollars." The room applauded and looked at me as I smiled. I glanced forward to the girl on the stage. I saw a solitary tear roll down her cheek. She quickly wrote down the amount and the auction continued.

One hour later it was over. A life's work carved into small bits and chunks ready to be carted off to distant points around the globe. A man from Australia had purchased all of the textbooks and a woman from DesMoines had won the first edition copy of Thoreau's Walden. I got up from my chair and grabbed my husband's hand.

"Steven, we need to pay for the collection and get it in the van. Come on." We headed to the auctioneer's podium and waited in line. The sad girl was still there but now she was joined by a thin older woman with graying brown hair. They talked softly as the auctioneer and his partner logged the cash and sorted the items.

I handed him the money. "Excuse me." I said softly, "They said the proceeds were going to a charity, could you tell me which one it is?"  
"Sure." The sad young woman looked at me and spoke. "Dad's favorite charity, the World Wildlife Federation. A small portion will also be going to Greenpeace."

"Oh, he was your father?" I asked her.

"Yes, he had provisioned certain items to be auctioned off in his will. Mom and I were following his wishes. It's hard to see these things go, but at least I know his work will help others. May I ask you what you purchased ma'am?"  
"Sure, and my name's Christine Louderman. I work for the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. I studied your father's work in the rainforest when I was in graduate school at Berkley. He's a bit of a legend in entomological circles. When I heard that his estate was to be auctioned off for charity, I got on the first plane. It's an honor to purchase a part of history. I won the butterfly collection. I promise miss that I will cherish it always."  
She smiled at me, "Thank you. May I see them one more time, to say goodbye?" She clasped her hands tightly in front of her.

"Sure. My husband Steven just carried the last crate to the van. Would you like to come out with me?"  
She looked at the older woman who was now softly crying. "Mom? Do you want to come too?" The older woman nodded and I led the two women to the parking lot.

"Steven, hold up!" I shouted to my husband who was staring blankly into the rental van. "They would like to see the butterflies one more time before we go. Don't load them yet."

"Ok, ok. I'm going over to that convenience store for an iced tea. Call me when you're done." He patted the cell phone on his hip and walked away. I bent down and lifted the top off of the nearest crate. The young girl gingerly reached inside and picked up a specimen. It had the most brilliant iridescent green wings. She turned it over in her hands and spoke almost in a whisper. "He got this one for my fifth birthday." She returned it to the box. "Look mom. Here's the one he sent back for your 50th birthday." The older woman smiled and chose another one from the crate, "Honey, he gave me this one when your came home from the hospital. He said the color matched your eyes."

"Excuse me." I looked at the women. "You mean there is a story behind each one of these?" They both nodded. "Hold on a sec." I reached into my purse and pulled out a pack of post it notes. Holding it in front of me, I looked at them. "Would you tell me so I can catalogue it? I mean, I don't want to pry, but a collection is just things unless you know the story behind it. Do you mind?"

Two hours and a trip to the store for more post its later, we had catalogued every single one. I gave each woman a hug and Steven and I finally were on our way.

"Ok hot shot. What are you going to do with them now?" My husband asked.

"Oh, I have an idea." I smiled as I stared out the window, the Vegas strip whizzing past as we drove. "I have a wonderful idea."

Six Years Later

"Christine, stop fidgeting. They will be here. They RSVP'd you know."  
"I know Steven. I'm just nervous. This is a big deal." I stared at the cars that were arriving now. I was hoping their flight was on time, I was nervous that they would be upset, I was hoping it didn't rain. My insides were on fire and the three glasses of champagne were doing nothing to stop the nerves. Finally, I saw her step out of a cab. She was older now with glasses and very pregnant. Her husband hurriedly stepped around the cab to help her out. Behind them in another cab were her mother, a blonde woman and a man with dark hair wearing a cowboy hat. They walked towards me and I almost threw up from my nerves. The young woman noticed by uneasiness and reached out for my hand. "Mrs. Louderman. Thank you so much for doing this. You have no idea what this means to our family. God bless you. Daddy would be so overwhelmed. He was a humble man and all of this," She gestured with her free hand, "well, he probably would have made an excuse not to be here. He hated formal events and hated political events even more. But, I am so grateful to you."  
"You are welcome my dear. Are you all ready? You get the first look." She was still holding my hand. Her husband walked behind her and her mother was on her other side gently holding her elbow. We climbed the stairs and entered the museum. The bright corridors echoed with the sounds of her heels clicking on the marble. No one spoke. Finally, we came to a small room in the Natural History exhibit. Over the door was a brass sign, "The Dr. Gilbert Grissom Exhibit." Upon entering I heard my companion gasp. On her cheeks, the warm tears flowed freely as she took in her surroundings. The walls were covered in butterflies. Every single Lucite case was there accompanied by plaque listing the species. Under each name was the story that I had carefully dictated on post it notes six years ago. In the corner, was a life sized portrait of her father and surrounding it were pictures of her, her mother and the crime lab that he made famous.

My companion squeezed my hand. "It's beautiful." She sobbed. "I'll visit every year. I promise."

" I know you will." I squeezed her hand back. My own tears fell. They felt soft on my cheeks, like being kissed by a butterfly.


End file.
